She's a Terminator
by Gilmore-007
Summary: According to Cameron, Derek was an asshole, not a stupid asshole. So why, God forbid, did he let her touch him? Willingly? In his book, that was more than stupid. *Language* Trust me, you'll want to give this fic a shot. **Finally updated!**
1. This Ain't Good

A/N: Cam/Derek

**A/N: Cam/Derek. Ayuh…I have no idea how I'm going to pull this one through, but I can tell you that it'll be one helluva ride. They're just so….**_**different**_**…and hate each other's guts/synthetic blood. I just had to write something about it. So, here's my supermondofabulous (hopefully) fanfic. Oh, yeah, I haven't seen the whole entire movie/show franchise, so if I get some technicality wrong, just let me know ; LOTS of swearing, btw…(mostly Derek, lol) If anyone thinks I'm going overboard with a 'T' rating, please tell me.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own Terminator or anything affiliated with it.**

"_Christ_!" Derek swore between clenched teeth, his hands white-knuckling the edge of the kitchen island he was laying face up on, not quite unlike the position he was in when he was first at the Connor household.

"Move one more time and I'll have to rip these stitches right out," Sarah threatened, midway through her fifth stitch, sure to be not a seventh of the way along the journey that guaranteed dozens more. So far they were all crooked, thus not much hope lay on the horizon. Derek groaned. "Take off your belt," she instructed her son, John, who stood on the other side of the room, rifling through the drawers.

"What?"

"Your belt," she repeated in a more stern fashion. John found a leather work glove in the junk he was going through and tossed it instead of his belt to Sarah, "Yup," he heard her mutter under her breath, "Exactly what I asked for…" She stuffed the glove in Derek's mouth and told him to stop being a girl. This, naturally, brought up a much unneeded pique from Cameron.

"That's physically impossible," she said in her standard flat tone, "Derek has a pen—"

"Cam!" All three of them yelled.

"—not a vag—" She suddenly stopped, something having caught her attention, "At the rate you are applying the sutures, Derek Reese will slip into a coma not twenty-four hours after the procedure is finished. He is loosing too much blood."

"Do _you_ wanna give me some, tin bitch?" he spat, his voice muffled.

"Lay down and shut up," Sarah commanded, pushing him back down on the table, "You're the one who just _had_ to get attacked…."

"How could I be mistaked for a bum?"

"How could you not?" John commented dryly from his corner. Derek grumbled some more and the white of his eyes started to show, before the irises unconsciously flicked back.

Not two hours ago, Derek had come home with a horrendous slash through his green jacket, t-shirt, and an inch and a half of skin. He stumbled through the door, his bloody hands trying to cover the mess his side was in, the crimson liquid seeping around his fingers and dripping on the carpet. The blood hadn't congealed, not a good sign at all, and Sarah ripped off his jacket and shirt to give sight to the nasty gash. A hefty foot long, the laceration ran from just under his armpit to his last two or three ribs on the right side.

John was told to find a sewing needle from the drawer (which he was still trying to do…he did find one, which Sarah was using now, but she found it unsatisfactory and instructed him to get a better one) and Cameron stood in an annoying hover-like way, constantly looking over Sarah's shoulder to give criticism and constant annoyance. Cam may have been a Terminator, but she knew damn straight that Derek didn't want her anywhere near him; just her being in the same room with Derek while he was injured was a shock and a half.

"They do not need to be straight," Cameron said to Sarah, who was fumbling with the cheap needle, making a disaster of things. It wasn't until she heard about how severe Derek's condition was did she start slipping up, "As long as the sutures hold him together."

Sarah went at it completely haphazard, causing Derek to fidget underneath her restraining hands. It wasn't so much the pain as it was the infection that was already settling in his system. A drunk had (as Derek had put it himself) 'shanked' him on his way out of the liquor store, beer in hand. The knife, or whatever it was, couldn't be doctorate clean. Impossible, even.

Interrupting the whole affair, John stepped in, "Mom, move. I'll do it."

With blood staining her hands and shirt, and jeans, Sarah backed off reluctantly, knowing her son would be able to carry the job through correctly. The savior of the human race furrowed his brow, re-threaded the needle and went to work.

**TTTT**

Glittering through the window, moonlight rested on Derek Reese's cold, sweaty brow. He flailed about the sheets, his legs tangling in the thin cotton fabric, threatening to tear, "Get it away!" he slurred, his words brushing up against each other, fogged by sleep and blood loss, "It's metal! Get it _away!"_ his voice was hoarse from the yelling and the muscles tensed in his neck

The Terminator moved forward carefully in soft measured steps so as not to send him into cardiac arrest, "Derek…" Cameron whispered.

His eyes instantly snapped open at the voice, jerking away from her to arm of the couch behind him, "_Fuck,"_ he cussed under his breath, feeling two of the stitches administered earlier that evening pop open, "Don't do that shit like that!"

"You were yelling in your sleep."

"Jesus," his hand gravitated towards his ribs, the source of sudden pain, "Curiosity kill the cat?"

Cameron tilted her head, his comment not making the least bit of sense.

"Nevermind. Get out."

"Your wound partially reopened."

"I'll fix it later," Derek leaned sideways and reached underneath the cushions to pull out a clip of bullets, "Beat it before I kill your ass…" he retrieved the rifle from between the couch and mini table, loading it with a quick and practiced motion.

"The stitches need to be repaired."

"Git…" he warned one last time, wincing as he pushed himself up on is feet, grasping the edge of the coffee table for balance. His breathing was labored and heavy, a grimace decorated his face.

"Fire that gun and you will wake John and Sarah," Cameron warned, not moving a step in any direction.

Derek looked at her, right straight through her big brown eyes. He knew exactly what hid behind such deceptive beauty, and it scared the piss out of him, "Keep your mouth shut, hubcap, I ain't shooting nothing."

"Then put the gun down," she ordered, switching the tables around. When he didn't comply, she insisted, "Now."

Irritated, Derek tossed the rifle on the couch, not about to get into a spat with a robot in the middle of the night. He had about an inch more of pride than that, "Bitch," he growled, hobbling off to the kitchen where the medical supplies from just a few hours ago was left. Even though Derek heard her following, he didn't stop to face her, but instead just said, "Where the hell are you going?"

Cameron responded simply, "You're going to need assistance."

"To stitch myself up?"

"Yes. John could barely do it without being physically impaired."

"Speaking of him," Derek paused to stare her down, "Aren't you supposed to be protecting him or some shit like that?"

"As a habit, I check on him every ten minutes," when she saw that her just gave her a blank look, she continued, "I have another six minutes and forty-two seconds until I have to do so."

"I don't need your help," he persisted, leaning against the counter and threading the needle.

Sighing (she was getting pretty good at it), Cameron said, "You've already gotten yourself into two different predicaments...already."

"Liar."

"The first is you haven't disinfected the needle..." she paused, the left corner of her lips turning up slightly, "I think you can figure out the second for yourself," at this, she turned on an Adidas socked foot and made her way back down the hall to see if both John and Sarah were safe, yet also waiting for him to call her back.

She knew he would.

Cameron wasn't stupid.

**TTTT**

_Damn, that thing is smart..._Derek thought icily to himself, dousing the needle in half a bottle of isopropyl alcohol. He now faced a conundrum: he couldn't get his shirt off. Yes, it was that simple. The couple of stitches that had ripped out were at the top of his wound, so it wasn't like her could just pull the shirt up and inch or two, he had to pull the whole damn thing off, for Chrissakes. He figured he'd go at it with some scissors, but there weren't any to be found. Sure, a pair of nail clippers and pliers could do the trick but that'd take three years off his life. There was the option of pulling a Hulk Hogan and ripping the thing off, but the robot had a keen sense of hearing and would know it won. Wonderful.

"Hey!" he called out, "You still there?"

It took a while for the response, but it eventually came, "Who's 'you'?" Cameron responded smartly.

"_You_."

"Yes, I am."

"Can you...um, can you—"

"Derek Reese, do you have the balls to say my name?" Interesting. She'd picked up a new word.

"What the fuck is that supposed to mean?" He asked coldly.

"You know exactly what it means."

"Can you come here, please, _Cameron_," he put emphasis on her name and added a 'please' for Brownie points.

She appeared around the corner, a satisfied expression her face. At first glance, she looked like any other smug, teenage girl with her boxerpants rolled down in that rebellious way to show an inch of skin before the hem of her wife-beater style tanktop started. At second glance, however, her shoulders weren't quite as relaxed as they should be and her jaw was always squared like and Army sergeant's. Hell, there was no denying that she was smokin' hot, though, "What exactly do you need?" she asked.

"Your 'assistance'."

"This," she stated, walking over to him, her eyes locked with his, "is why I put your nose to the grindstone," Cameron was now right in front of Derek, her hands on his hips and her fingers playing with the edge of his t-shirt, "You're an asshole," Any rational thought what-so-ever flew right out of his head as the feelings of elbowing her in the face for touching him and the wonder of how, just _how_ Cam's fingers could be so warm against his skin warred within him. It wasn't fair. "Not a stupid asshole." At this, she pulled his shirt over his head (rather violently and unforgiving) and let it drop to the floor, "You can pick that up."

She was gone before he knew his thought process returned back to normal.

Normal-ish.

Normal-ish because Derek just let a Terminator touch him.

And he wanted her to do it again.

**A/N: So...a) is it worth internet space to continue or b) should I stop wasting your time? Hmm...Yeah, it was quick, but whatever.**


	2. Rain, Lies, Cars and Bolts

A/N: -Yup, second chapter (finally) is up

**A/N: -Yup, second chapter (finally) is up.**

**-This will most likely be a 5-8 chapter fic depending on how things go.**

**-I booted up the rating to 'M' per request and because of the upcoming adult content (wink, wink) and language.**

**-Just in case all of you were wondering, this isn't going to end with Cam and Derek falling in love or having kids and growing old together. That is completely unfathomable and any relationship that I may or may not pen between them will be of the (maybe) sexual nature. Not lovey-dovey (jeez, gag me to pieces and throw me in a hefty bag).**

Derek was jerked awake by John's ten thousand pound backpack landing with an ugly _plomp_ on his face.

"What the _fuck_!" he growled, half asleep and shoved the thing off his body onto the carpeted floor, intensely aggravated, more so than a wet hornet.

"Oh, sorry, man," John Connor apologized, picking up his bag and tossing it over his shoulder, "I forgot you were there."

"Yeah, whatever," he rolled back over on the couch, facing the back and inhaling the rather unpleasant smell of old potato chips and diet coke.

John chuckled to himself, grabbing a slice of pizza from the day before that was left abandoned on the counter, and headed out the door to school where his body guard was already waiting for him at the end of the driveway.

Derek squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fall back asleep from his violent wake-up at seven in the morning. It had been almost a week since that unexpected encounter with a bum with an attitude in an alley, so considering everything his stitches were healing quite nicely. They had only opened once more since that night with Cameron; he had also strained a muscle in his neck trying not to look at the robot's ass a few days ago when she bent down right in front of him to retrieve a pencil Derek had dropped while writing down that they needed dental floss on the shopping list magnetized to the refrigerator door. The complete and total last thing he needed was to check Cameron out while she was practically handing herself to him... Lord, but still, he hadn't had a good romp in the sheets in—_fuck_. He was falling right into Skynet's trap and that made his blood boil.

He gave up, knowing that sleep wouldn't come for another eighteen hours, at least. Derek rose stiffly from the couch, stretching out his arms and joints before shuffling to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee.

Two and a half cups later, Sarah ambled into the kitchen, stifling a yawn, "Mornin'," she said groggily, turning on the T.V.

"Mhmm," Derek acknowledged her presence, having her morning routine down pat by now. Sarah got up, turned on the news, walked to the front steps and got the newspaper. She watched and read both while she drank her coffee, searching for anything what-so-ever on any clues or events to Skynet or Judgment Day. He had no idea why she did this because rationality told him that Sarah would know these things before some insipid reporter hurrying to make deadline would.

Satisfied with her thorough scanning, she asked, "So, how's the war wound?"

Derek smirked, "Itches like a bitch."

"I'd be surprised if it didn't."

"So," he prompted as he scraped his chair back and walked over to the fridge and scoped out the insides for something that wasn't already expired, "What're you going to do about the thing?"

Ignoring the question, Sarah said, "I think we have donuts or something in there somewhere..."

"The Terminator. What're you going to do about it?"

John Connor's mother stared into her coffee cup, a dull and defeated look scarring her face, "...Nothing..." she said quietly.

Tossing a box of donuts on the table, Derek took the kitchen chair and twirled it around so his arms were resting on the back of it, "Because that's just such a wonderful idea," he added with a sarcastic smirk.

Sarah was just short of shocked that he was taking the situation lightly, "I've run so many scenarios through my mind it's ridiculous..."

"Shooting, setting fire to, attacking with a socket wrench, shoving through a thirty storey window, electrocuting—"

"Jesus!" she interrupted, "Basically..."

"Why haven't you executed these ideas?" he bit into his sugar powdered breakfast and wiped the excess of his mouth with the back of his hand. Derek shrugged, "I'll be happy to do it for you."

"Be my guest."

He eyed her stonily, "You aren't serious..."

"Of course I'm serious," Sarah said placidly, "But I know you won't do it."

"You don't know what the fuck you're talking about," he shot back, tasting the sweet food in his mouth go sour.

"You're completely aware of the fact that John's emotionally connected to it..."

"Bullshit."

The corner of her mouth crinkled in a slight smile as she rose from her seat, leaving Derek behind. He was having trouble keeping his outburst of anger bottled up nicely within him. Looking down at his hands, he found odd thoughts walking across his thinking process. Stupid stuff about where the scar on the inside of his left thumb came from, the mental note to stop biting his nails and the flicker of annoyance that the hangnail on his ring finger emitted. A most unusual habit, Derek always found himself looking down at and studying his hands whenever he was thinking about something, "A few hours every night, they're locked up inside his room, Sarah."

The dark-haired woman stopped on her way down the hall, eyeing Reese with suspicion, "You think I don't know that?"

He continued, "We'll never know what they do in there. Maybe she does his homework. Maybe they talk about Judgment Day. Maybe they have an epic debate over Obama and Clinton. My they have sex..." he couldn't stop the ghost of a smile that floated over his face when he saw Sarah's shocked expression ("I swear to _Christ_!"), "Regardless...he trusts it."

"Well no fucking shit, Derek—"

"And I don't like it."

"Me either..."

"He trusts a liar...a robot. Something that poses as something that it's not. It goes around day after day rattling off spun stories about its life, its name and where it came from. The thing makes real people believe it's one of them. I hate that," he spat.

"But _we're _not liars?" she gave him an incredulous look.

**TTTT**

Sarah made a funny face, "It makes a weird noise when I turn it on."

"Like what?" Derek asked, idly flipping through the latest _Maxim._

"I refuse to reenact it for you..."

He grinned, setting his magazine on the splintery railing of the rickety front porch, "I have nothing better to do with my existence." Shaking her head, Sarah walked down the chipped flagstone walk to her Jeep and leaned in through the open window, looking for her keys. "I'd roll up my windows if I were you..." he said, eyeing the cumulonimbus infested sky. The wind hadn't picked up yet, so Derek estimated that it would be pouring in about an hour or so.

"Yes," Sarah said bitterly, "because I'm leaning through this _open_ window for my health."

Feeling his dark green shirt stick to his back from the humidity, Derek got his lazy ass off the front step and helped Sarah find her keys. Squinting into the darkness underneath the seats, his voice muffled, he said, "So what's this thing sound like?" he probed, smirking. A screaming metallic sound suddenly split through the air, causing him to yell out, "Holy shit!"

She nodded dejectedly, pulling the keys out of the ignition. Jeez, that fucking woman scared the crap out of him, "That."

"That ain't good...It's like you poured a bag of marbles under the hood."

"I won't deny it."

He grumbled to himself, running his fingers through his sweaty hair, "I guess I'll have to fix it, huh?"

"Unless you want to starve for the next fifteen years or walk the ten miles to the store...yeah, you have to fix it."

"Why can't you wait until John gets home?" Derek made a poor excuse for whining, "He'll be back in, like, ten minutes."

"So his homework is going to do itself?"

He tried _so_ hard not to make a snarky comment...but... "I bet it's going to have fun jerking off—"

"You know what I meant!"

"I couldn't help it..." he chuckled.

Sarah pointed to the toolbox next the front tire, "Have fun," she said, turning to walk back in the house.

"Way to treat an invalid..." he muttered, undoing the clasps of the large dented toolbox, "Hello, Mr. Pliers, meet your kid, Skynet..." It was hotter than Haverhill out and his starchy shirt was rubbing up against wound. The stitches were taken out just yesterday but the skin was irritated beyond belief. He rotated his shoulders, hoping that with a little time the itch would go away.

Five seconds later, Derek was so pissed off, he pulled the shirt up over his head, not caring in the slightest fucking bit that his injury roared out in pain. He flung the offensive thing on the ground, relived to find that he could breathe. Picking up a wrench, be bent beneath the hood of the Sarah's car, the unappealing aroma of gas and old oil wafting up to him. Uh-oh. He saw the problem immediately. Damn, that woman could be so blindingly stupid sometimes...

"That's crazy, Cam," Derek heard John's voice traveling through the thick, rain-threatened air.

"I fail to see your counter argument."

"My 'counter arg—'? Nevermind...Cheri and I? No way..."

"You're blushing."

"I'm _confused_," John spluttered through that simple sentence, which made Derek believe the contrary, "Oh, hey."

"Hey," Derek replied, his hands tinkering with the engine of the Jeep.

"That screechy waily sound still there?" he asked, climbing up the front steps, not noticing the fact that Cameron has stopped by the car and was peering down into the inner-workings of the motor.

John Connor had disappeared into the house, most likely out to give his mother shit for making Derek work when he got shanked a week ago.

"It's going to rain..." Cameron stated bluntly, stepping back from the vehicle and standing with her arms at her side.

"I didn't know you were a weather reporter, too, wiseass," he growled, up to his elbows in black engine grease.

"That means you should finish up your project...mechanics should not be exposed to harsh weather."

"I guess you should go find something constructive to do inside, then, eh?"

"Not necessarily."

"You won't, like..." Derek paused to swear something rude and profane as he dropped a bolt on the ground and watched it roll in its crooked little way underneath the Jeep.

"No," Cameron said in a hard way, "I won't."

As if on cue, big fat drops of rain started to plop onto the dusty driveway, the sheet metal of the car and Derek's bare back, "Fucking glorious..."

And pour it did.

"It's raining."

"It's a fucking _monsoon!"_ he had to yell above the pounding of the rain on everything around them. Derek, half blinded by the falling water, slammed down the hood of the vehicle, taking Cameron's advice of mechanics and water to good use, "What in the _fat fuck_ are you doing?" he asked (more of a shout, actually) as the Terminator walked to the other side of the car instead of in the direction of the house. Any insane asylum freak would know that she was walking in the wrong direction. Christ, and he though Sarah was stupid...

He picked his shirt up off the ground, closed the toolbox and caught a glimpse of the robot in the side-view mirror bending down to pick up something. Derek's view wasn't necessarily the best due to the fact that it was raining cats and dogs out, but...oh, _man_.

Her wet jeans stretched across her taught frame as she was doing Lord knows what, the ordinarily loose shirt that she was wearing was now Saran wrap tight around her body because of the abrupt downpour and he could see the black lacy bra strap curve over her shoulder. Her dark brown hair was soaked and she ran a hand through it as she stood back up—

"_Why?!_" Derek impulsively roared, whirling towards her, "Why, for the love of fucking _God _are you _doing this to me!"_

Cameron moved slowly towards him, her voice barely audible, "Why is your shirt off?" she asked.

"M-my _what?_"

Before he even knew that a flash of lightning streaked across the sky, her fingertips were lightly tracing his ribs, her palm soon following to rest against the rise and fall of his chest. Derek grabbed both of her wrists with his black, engine oiled hands and pulled her wet body right up to his. Cameron's whole self felt so hot, he swore that she must have been on fire. He took her hand and plastered it to a certain spot next his breastbone so he could feel the steady _thump-thump_ pounding between them, "Feel that?" he hissed between clenched teeth, forcing him to say the thick and cruel words that were sliding over his tongue and through his lips, "You don't have one."

She jerked back from him, her fist breaking apart to let the muddy bolt clatter back to the ground.

**A/N: I have no idea how many spelling errors are in this thing 'cause I'm rushing like something you wouldn't believe.**


	3. Boxers, Beer and Bathrooms

A/N: Fist of all, I'd like to thank everyone out there who's reviewed, it's greatly appreciated

**A/N: Fist of all, I'd like to thank everyone out there who's reviewed, it's greatly appreciated!!**

**Second, I honestly have no idea in what direction this story is going so it'll be interesting to see how this pans out.**

**Disclaimer: I own jack shit.**

Derek marveled over the fact that a Terminator could hold a grudge enviably well as he put away the groceries. As soon as they walked through the door, John claimed that he had homework to do (shocker) and Sarah had to clean her guns...so that just left Cameron to stand there as she helped putting away the food, giving Derek a withering stare every carefully counted couple of seconds.

"_Why?" _he asked, holding up a family size bag of BBQ chips.

"They taste good," she responded automatically, shoving his thirty count case of beer into the refrigerator.

Reese sighed, shaking his head as he balled up the numerous amounts of cheap plastic bags and put them all in one big one. Over the past week, the whole poor excuse for a 'family' split up separately (well, John with Cameron) and hit the mini-marts and Blue Canoes in an individual fashion in order to get to food shopping done because it'd be extraordinarily conspicuous for them to all hoof it to Shaw's together, especially with the whole Cromartie deal and everything. Collaboratively, they ended up with a whole mishmash of things which included (but weren't limited to) a can of green beans, beer, fake potatoes in a box, Wonder Bread, a pack of Stride gum, steak tips, chips and Devil Dogs.

Since the whole driveway-in-the-pouring-fucking-rain debacle, Cameron had been way more than distant to anything that concerned Derek. Maybe if left out the rude comment and the near conniption he had on her when he finally returned from digging around in the slick and mud for the bolt she dropped, the robot wouldn't be as...cold. However, Derek wouldn't be Derek if hadn't of added one extra dash of vinegar to the cookie batter; he just couldn't help himself, though.

Brushing past Cameron to get a Budweiser, he had a momentary flashback that made him wince—but oh, Lord, did _have_ to kiss her?

**TTTT**

_The last of dirt and sweat washed down the drain, mixed with the steaming water that just pounded on Derek's back. The shower was way more hot than necessary, but it was only that way because he felt that the scalding liquid would somehow purge the feelings that his nasty lash-out to Cameron had left behind. _

_With a grimace and a groan, he reached back and twisted the water back, hating the squeak that emitted from the knob. His hand landed on the soft towel he had previously placed on the bathroom counter and wrapped it securely around his waist before stepping out of the bathtub/shower combo. Wiping the steam off the mirror with his forearm, Derek nearly jumped right out of his skin when he heard the sharp and sudden knock being rapped on the wooden door._

_"What?" he called, out irritated, waiting for his heartbeat to return to a debatably normal pace._

_"It's Cameron."_

_"...So?" was the delayed question._

_"Can I come in?"_

_"No! You can't 'come in,' for Chrissakes."_

_"I wish to speak with you."_

_Derek growled through the division, "In the damn _bathroom_?"_

_"Circumstances have decided that this is the only likable option...there are only four enclosed rooms in the Connor household; Sarah's room, John's room, the basement and the bathroom," he heard her pause, as if Derek actually got the point but she soon continued, "Both John and Sarah are occupying their designated areas, the basement light burnt out five hours and twenty-three minutes ago—actually, we could converse outsid—nevermind, it is raining out. Through past collections of data I have concluded that you seem to be temperamental when it is precipitating—"_

_"Holy hell, woman!" he exclaimed, interrupting._

_"I am not a woman."_

_He swore that he heard her mouth set in a firm line of defiance before he said, "I don't give a fuck what you are!" At this, he ripped the door open, the cool air slapping him in the face as he watched the fog pour out of the room, "What do you want?" he hissed._

_Cameron squinted around him, "You can see in there?" she asked, confused._

_"No," he said slowly, "I can't."_

_"The why—"_

_"Because," was the quick third grader response, not caring what the real question was._

_"As aforementioned, I need to speak to you."_

_"Then let's get snappin', tin miss."_

_Taking him by suprise, she placed both palms on his bare chest and shoved him forcefully back, "In here." She followed, closing the door quietly behind her and swiftly locked it. _

_Derek felt his eyes widen, in partial wonder of what was so dire to talk about that they needed to be enclosed in a steamy teen foot square room and because she locked the fucking door, "What...?" he tried to ask, but his throat did that whole clogging up deal that he despised._

_"I need help..." she said rather pathetically, crossing her arms lengthwise in front of her, grasping the edges of the thin t-shirt. She pulled the thing over her head, the cotton fabric clinging slightly to her lithe form because her skin was already sweating from the three-and-a-half seconds spent inside the room, "John tends to be fidgety when I do not have clothing on," Cameron explained, handing him her shirt. Her bra (thank-you, Christ) was left on for the 'sake' of modesty but Derek's blood still pounded through his veins anyways, "and it would be physically awkward around Sarah."_

_Fumbling, he put her top on the counter next to him, "O-okay," he croaked, his voice surprisingly scratchy despite the moisture-clogged air. Only when the Terminator turned around did Derek see why she needed help in the first place. His eyebrows perked at the wound between pronounced shoulder blades. "Ouch," he muttered, staring at the bloody, gaping, stab-like hole._

_"I do not feel it proper to explain now," she said, twisting around Derek to open the medicine cabinet to pull out a box of gauze, "If the wound is not patched properly, it may not heal correctly."_

_"If you were human, you'd be dead," was the blunt comment that came out of his mouth._

_"I am aware of this."_

_He twirled his finger and whistled a signal for her to turn back around. Despite inappropriate, freshman-like thoughts running across his brain signals, Derek figured it best not to stutter and perform like a freshman, so he composed himself. Acting as if there wasn't a half naked girl standing in front of him, he tore a thing of gauze off, placed it on the hole and tore a piece of medical tape with his teeth and slapped it on to secure the makeshift bandage, "That good?" he asked._

_"Yes, I appreciate it," she said, turning back around so she could put her shit back on. However, Derek's hand came out and touched her elbow. Cameron stopped immediately, startled all to hell. _

_"Relax..." he breathed, his fingers trailing up her bicep and around her shoulder. The robot's muscles tensed underneath his touch, apprehensive. He felt the corner of his lips in a smirk as his hand traveled lower still, lightly massaging their way down her rib cage. _

_"D-Derek..." he heard her whisper, her chocolate eyes briefly meeting his green eyes before dodging his direct glance. The gradual flare of her hips rose to meet his hand and she mumbled, "Please...d-don't..."_

_He leaned in, hooking his index finger in the belt loop of her factory-faded lowrise jeans, "Sorry," he grunted, meeting her lips roughly. _

_Cameron's mouth was hot and achingly soft underneath his harshly unforgiving one. Her breath was searing as it surrounded his tongue and Derek pushed harder against her, his other hand resting at her opposite hip—_

_There was something wrong._

_She wasn't responding at all. As a matter of fact, she pulled back vehemently, her lips red from their semi-embrace, "I told you," her tone was low and dangerous, "_not to._"_

_Derek Reese watched helplessly as she grabbed her t-shirt and stormed out of the bathroom, slamming the door behind her with a reverberating _bang.

**TTTT**

"Derek?" Sarah called out form the front porch, jerking him out of his thoughts.

"Yeah," he responded.

"It's back."

"_What's_ back?"

"The clanging noise," she said reluctantly.

Derek let out a deep breath, "Shit," he swore, "Can I fix it in the morning?"

"Sure."

He watched Cameron peek into John's room after everything was put away, mumble a few words he couldn't hear and then step inside.

For a half of a second, Derek was jealous of his nephew.

The feeling made him want to puke.

**TTTT**

_"Sexy can I, just pardon my manners, girl how you shake it got a playa like..."_

Derek wrinkled his brow.

What the fuck?

_"Sexy can I, visit you at work..."_

Jesus, was that what the kids were listening to these days?

At two o'clock in the morning, he had just got back from fixing Sarah's jeep seeing as there was no way that he could sleep. Irritatingly, Cameron had taken refuge on the couch, watching MTV and leaving Derek to wander around like a haunt because he didn't have the guts to tell the Terminator to mover her ass.

He sighed, knowing that he'd never be able to sleep with that rap-racket on anyways. Well, if you can't be 'em, join 'em.

"Hey," he said.

Her head jerked around, giving him an unbelieving look, "Hello."

Derek walked around the couch and sat at the opposite end, eying the girls in skimpy, shiny outfits grinding a stripper pole on the television, complete with rave-like strobe lights and some guy wearing chainlinks around his neck, trying to dance, "So you enjoy this?" he asked, propping his socked feet on the beer can-littered coffee table, "Damn, girl, you drink?"

"I don't get drunk," she said, undoubtedly sober.

"I bet it 'tastes good', huh?" he asked, grinning a whole lot when the joke was lost on her.

"Yes," she said emotionlessly. He heard a _crunch_ to his right and Derek looked over to see Cameron munching on a handful of BBQ chips.

He just shook his head; he couldn't believe it. She looked like every other snobby sixteen-year old American teenager sitting there watching music videos a two in the morning, drinking her father's beer out of the fridge, eating a whole fucking bag of potato chips without gaining a pound. She had the straightened hair, the mascara, the painted toenails and the tanktops that were against school rules. Gloriously, she topped it all off with her boyfriend's—

Aw, shit.

_Holy_ shit.

"A-are t-those...?"

"I ran out of underwear," was the simple response.

"Then go wash some!"

"It's only for a few hours, chill out."

But she wore them so...so fucking..._good._ Derek's simple plaid boxers adorned her perfect ass frame and were rolled down several times like every other non-jean thing she wore. Never, ever, _ever_, for the rest of his whole damn life was he going to be able to put on his boxers without wondering if she wore that exact pair or not. Jeez, and it wasn't like Cameron was wearing them just as shorts or something sane...oh, no. Of course not. He couldn't be that fucking lucky.

He sank back into the cushions of the couch, giving up completely. She peered over at him, the blue and green lights form the T.V. bouncing off her chestnut hair, giving her a strange allure in the dark room, "Want some?" she offered, holding out the bag off chips.

"Thanks," he said, taking a few.

"Yup."

They sat in complete silence for about a quarter of an hour before Derek spoke, "I apologized."

"Hmm?" she asked, turning towards him, not catching what he said. Grudgingly, he thought she was playing deaf on purpose. Her hearing was impeccable.

"You know...before I..." he broke off, fidgeting with the tab of the beer can he held.

"Kissed me," she completed for him.

"Yeah."

"I know."

Lord, he was so damn confused, "Then why the fuck--?"

"Because," was her retaliation. Argh. He'd heard that one somewhere before. She adjusted the strap on the boxers (Derek swallowed) and took another sip from the Budweiser, her mouth hugging the lip of the aluminum perfectly, "I believe it would have been wise," said Cameron thoughtfully, a faint hint of a smile on her face as she looked at Derek, "to have taken a picture."

"Excuse me?"

"When I had my shirt off," she shoved another handful of chips in her mouth. He waited. "It most certainly would have lasted longer than the glimpse you got."

"Yeah," he scoffed, reaching into the Lays bag, "Well."

_"And I keep bleedin', keep keep bleedin' love..." _sang the television.

Derek gruffly said, "She's hot."

Cameron just stared ahead, intent on her T.V watching. Abruptly, she said, "Your kissing sucked."

"Whoa," he retaliated, holding up his hands, "It's not like you did anything to change that."

"You were too forceful," she continued.

"You didn't _kiss me back_!"

"I wanted to hurt you."

"Then why didn't you kick me in the shin or something?" he asked, irritated.

She elaborated, "Emotionally."

His shoulders slumped when the realization hit. From the thing in the driveway, the thing he wouldn't have said to anybody else on the whole planet, erupted this whole mess, "Cam, I—"

The next comprehendible thing he knew, her finger was digging into his chest, "If you ever say something like that to me again..." she leaned in and Derek could smell the alcohol on her breath and that sweet scent of BBQ chips that he'd never forget. She reached forward and twisted the collar of his shirt in her fist, bringing him towards her, "You'll _never_ know what it's like to be kissed by a Terminator."

His breathing was heavy and he felt a bead of sweat slide town his temple to the curve of his jaw.

That sure as hell was something he couldn't stand another day of going without.

**A/N: Woo-hoo! So, they kissed...sort of. It'll sooooo get hotter later on. **


	4. Blood Sugar

A/N: Alrighty

**A/N: Alrighty. Let's see...so I just got this, like, brilliant idea last night I just **_**had**_** to write it down. It may seem like I'm moving a tad too fast with this story...but, c'mon it's been like four chapters and they haven't made out yet? I know...cruel. Oh, by the way, this takes place right after the last chapter ended...I thought I'd try something like that out.**

**Disclaimer: I own the space between these symbols of inclusion... Haha, that's right...nothing!!**

Derek's nerves were racing crazily up and down the high speed track of his spine; the link connecting his brain and sweaty palms. Before reaching into the Lays bag for another handful of chips, he wiped them off on his worn jeans, knowing it'd royally suck ass if Cameron noticed he was as nervous as Peter Parker jumping off a building for the first time. It was completely ridiculous to even suppose that he, Derek Reese, would be sitting on an Ikea ordered couch at three in the morning, watching MTV, drinking beer and sitting next to a Terminator who was so fucking gorgeous that it hurt not to think about screwing her right there on floor, next to the coffee table.

"I'm not a polite person," he said, his voice low and grainy. Cameron had since returned to her side of the couch after requesting that Derek keep his toe in line.

"I don't recall saying that you were," was her flat response.

"If it makes you feel better," he said, inwardly wincing. First of all, he'd never say that to a real girl and second of all, he sure as hell shouldn't have said to a girl who couldn't 'feel' for jack shit. Yet, he continued anyways, "I won't say nothing offensive on purpose."

"Not really."

"I didn't think so."

Her big brown eyes flicked towards him for the briefest of seconds, "You were grammatically incorrect as well."

"Does it look like I give a shit?" was his retaliation. Leaning forward, he grabbed the remote off the table to turn down the volume of the television.

"Not really."

Derek gruffly muttered under his breath, "Good." At this, the robot didn't respond, but just sat there; relaxed on the messy couch cushions, "Move," he blurted.

She narrowed her brow, "Why?"

"I need to sleep," he said it in a way that made the statement sound question-like.

"...and I need to move in order for you to get your daily rest?" Lord, she made it sound like he was spineless.

"That's right."

"Why don't you just sleep where you are?"

Shaking his head, Derek drained that last of his beer, "Because it's weird with you, like...right there," he said, gesturing to her.

She tilted her head, giving him that doe-eyed look, "Does my existence make you uncomfortable?"

"Yes," he replied frankly.

"I will move by your request only under one condition." She was giving him ultimatums now?

"...Yeah?" he replied wearily, his vision starting to fog over from sleep deprivation. Derek's eyes were completely closed now, his hand wrapped around the empty beer bottle, "I thought you had a condition for me, tin miss..." he garbled, a few seconds away from passing out when she didn't answer him.

"The first one is--," she said, making him jerk awake.

"There's more than one?" he almost yelled, the muscles straining in his neck. Hell yeah, he was tired.

He thought he saw a flicker behind Cameron's eyes as she said, "I'd prefer that you be conscious."

Derek suddenly jumped up from the couch, cracked his knuckles and riffled his hands through his dark hair, "Alright, alright," he said, giving up. To top it all off, he cracked open another Budweiser; there was no way he'd go asleep with one of those open next to him, "Tell me."

"I have a question for you..." she said slowly, rising from the couch and Derek couldn't help watching the way she brushed off _his _boxers. He quickly snapped his gaze up to her face, instead.

"Great..." he sighed.

Cameron looked down at the space of carpet between them, the glow from the television reflecting on the silver necklace around her neck. How the fuck did he not notice that earlier? "In the driveway a few days ago—"

"No," Derek said sternly, rolling up the Lays bag and walking out to the kitchen, tossing it carelessly on the counter, "Forget about the whole driveway thing." He turned to see her carrying five or six brown glass beer bottles in her arms, very intent on not dropping them. Her motions were careful as she placed them in the trash barrel.

Once she was finished, she looked up at him, "I don't think that's entirely possible..."

"Of course it is!" he flared up, throwing his arms up in the air, "Don't you have some chip in that head of yours that just deletes information?" Derek put his hands down, realizing that he looked ridiculous, "...Or some shit like that?"

"No."

"Then just don't bring it up...or think about it...or—"

It was then when everything went to hell in a hand basket. It seemed to him that it all was going in slow motion; the way her chestnut hair fell across her face as she brought up her fingers that brushed against her wrist and how the air conditioning turned off right before she said barely above a whisper, "But you touched me..."

Derek blinked, "I-I know, I—"

She squared her jaw, "...and it was raining."

"Fucking _pouring_," he spat.

"There was black motor oil on your hands..." Cameron looked up at him, swallowing, and "I didn't want to wash it off after you...a-after..." her voice broke off. He'd never witnessed that before. Not her. Not any other Terminator.

He wrinkled his brow, more than confused, "W-wha--?"

"I'm _not_ supposed to feel...things, Derek."

_And your voice isn't supposed to waver,_ he thought bitterly to himself_. You've never ever before put emphasis words and it's an ungodly sin to be so fucking beautiful yet know how to kill a man a dozen different ways with a fucking drinking straw—_"I think," he cleared his throat, "You should be discussing this with John..."

The next comprehendible thing he knew, her voice had turned cold. "You told me that I didn't have a heart."

Derek's mouth formed a scowl. Christ, he couldn't take it anymore. His hand shot forward and his fingers hooked themselves behind the band of the boxers, causing Cameron to stop. He heard her suck in her breath as she whirled to face him, her hand grabbing his at the edge of the underwear. They stayed like that, eyes linked for a brief second before he spoke, his voice barely audible, "Prove me wrong."

Then there was silence. Complete and utter silence.

His breathing was heavy in his chest and his whole arm started to tingle with sweat because he was touching her bare skin. She wasn't wearing a blessed thing under those boxers. Derek's brain was slamming against the confines of his skull, screaming out to do something. Anything. _I'll have to go commando for the rest of my damn life..._

Gently, Cameron pulled his hand out of her shorts and slowly reached up, playing with the edge of the sleeve of his t-shirt. His bicep twitched underneath her touch and his mind completely froze. "Your clothes are comfortable," she breathed.

At first, she kissed him lightly; softly, you might even call it. Her mouth was warm and soft when it met his, her lips parting the tiniest fraction when they met his tongue. It was over way more quickly than it had started.

Cameron pulled away, not even daring to look Derek in the eyes. She took a hesitant breath before turning away. Walking away. Leaving. Away. "No..." he said, his voice hoarse, "No, don't."

She immediately came back, meeting his embrace so hard and so rough that they tumbled (rather ungracefully) onto the flattened cushions on the couch, "Thank-you," she gasped against his mouth, twisting his shirt in her grasp.

The rational part of his brain was whirring in so many different directions, but he wasn't listening to it and he wasn't concerned because the one thing that he'd be praying for to happen for the past...God, he didn't know how long, was actually happening.

His thigh was jammed up between her legs, right against her crotch as one of Cameron's hands was caught up with his shirt, the other tangling itself in his hair as she kissed him up his neck, around his jaw and back to his mouth. She tasted like beer, pancakes and BBQ chips that he knew she'd become newly addicted to. Neither of them cared that the Bud that Derek had just opened had already spilled and was foaming onto the carpet, seeing as that was by far the most un-important thing going on.

She pulled the t-shirt out of his jeans, over his head and let it drop to the floor, his hands making an effort pull the boxers down her hips, "Slow," was the mumbled word that he could comprehend from her as Derek instead went to Cameron's tanktop. Her tongue was at the back of his throat and his erection was restraining against the zipper of his worn jeans, hot against her stomach.

Abruptly, he ripped away from her, swearing and cussing.

He tasted metal. He tasted fucking _metal._

"D-Derek?" she asked, wiping her swollen mouth with the back of her hand, "You're bleeding..."

Oh, shit. That was it. Blood not metal. Blood not metal. Blood not metal...

Cameron reached for his hand, brought it up to the edge of his lip that was bleeding and softly kissed his thumb, her eyes locked with his. Derek couldn't breathe, never mind understand what the hell she was doing, "You blood sugar is low," she whispered.

**TTTT**

John Connor woke up for school, stretching his arms over his head. Walking into the living room, he was shocked at the helter-skelter mess all over the place. It looked like a pigsty; there was a knocked over beer bottle on the floor, the stain already setting in, chip crumbs embedded in the couch cushions and scattered on the floor.

Underneath the coffee table, John caught sight of one of Derek's shirts. He bent down to pick it up. Frowning, her saw that it had a huge ass tear in the side and smelled like...sweat, "Derek?" he called out, mystified, "Where's Cam--?"

Snickers wrappers were littered on kitchen table, a pack of Oreos was more than three-quarters of the way gone and the family size jar of marshmallow fluff was amid the disaster. Derek Reese stuffed two cookies in his mouth at the same and chased it with a spoonful of the teeth-rotting concoction, "Waiting for you outside," he said, his voice muffled.

"Are you _eating_ that?" John tosses him his t-shirt.

His uncle just stared at it, his chewing stopped. He looked up at Connor, "My blood sugar's low."

**A/N: Haha, I know it took a while...but...**

**Yeah, please excuse any spelling or grammatical errors; I'm flying to get this done before my tourney.**


End file.
